


green is not a creative color

by GhastlyType



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Archivist Jonathan Sims, Attempted Murder, Canon-Typical Violence, Crying, Explaining The Situation, Helen is a Good Friend, Hiding Your Boss From The Future From Your Cowokers Is Hard, Hurt/Comfort, Jonathan Sims Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Jonathan Sims Needs a Hug, No Beta We Die Like Avatars of The End, Other, Scars, The Distortion Twists More Than Space, Time Travel, teen for swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22784362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhastlyType/pseuds/GhastlyType
Summary: If space is a spiral, then so is time, as they both go hand in hand. Then again, The Spiral is funny in that it does not explain what is and is not a Spiral.or:After everything he has tried to do to help get the world back, Jon goes back in time to attempt to prevent the end of the world- he has a little help in the form of a new old friend.
Relationships: Helen & Jonathan Sims, Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims (background)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 245





	green is not a creative color

**Author's Note:**

> Aokdkdkckdn sorry about the summary I know it’s not that good. 
> 
> Anyway- I really like??? All the time travel fics?? They’re really good and I love them to bits! One of my favorites for this fandom is Yesterday Is Here, so go check that out because I drew some inspiration from the fic while making mine! It’s really good!
> 
> Anyway, I’ll let you get on with the story, see ya!

It wasn’t _supposed_ to end like this. It was not supposed to end with him clutching on to the last piece of his dying hope. It was not supposed to end with him begging to bring back what once was.

He was supposed to be happy- didn’t he deserve at least that much? He had done what he was asked; he had tried to fix what he was forced to destroy. He tried so hard to get the eyes to stop staring at him. Why was there a price? Why was the price to destroy what he loved?

He was supposed to be happy.

The creak of an old yellowing door that was not a door and but was and was not supposed to exist and yet still was, did not symbolize happiness.

” ~~ **You look like you need a door, Archivist.**~~ ”

Her voice was softer, weaker, than it used to be. The crumbling static and echos barely registered within his mind as she spoke. The edges were not as sharp as they were and they did not cut at his mind like they used to.

He felt himself nod numbly in response. He felt his hands be gently pried from the locks of not quite black hair. Felt the sharp pinpricks of her hands as she attempted not to impale him with them.

He is thankful, when she leads him away. Away from stained grass and glassy eyes. Away from cold and dead smiles. Away, towards a door where a door should not be a door.

Its dull yellow paint seemed like a comfort in the harsh greens and blues and browns that filled his vision.

It is something different. Maybe he needs something different.

” ~~Would you like to go somewhere else, Jon?”~~

And that’s something different. Jon- he's Jon. He is not the _Archivist_ , or the _Archive_ , or the _Watcher_. He is Jon. Jonathan Sims. That’s him.

”Yes... yes, Helen, I think I would very much like to go.”

His voice is dead and hoarse. He doesn’t use it anymore. His voice is not smooth and bubbly like Helen’s when she says her next sentence.

”Then go ahead. I will take you somewhere safe. Go on, Jon. My door is always open.”

And he walks through the door.

* * *

The Magnus Institute is a load of _shit_. 

This was a running thought in Tim’s mind as he pushed open the front doors of the building.

The Institute is bullshit and will not help him. 

Tim runs his hand through his hair, feeling the ends curl around his fingers as he walked through crowded London streets.

He loves his job, really. It was an okay job- flexible hours, lunch breaks, the ability to just lounge at his desk until Sasha or Jon gave him that _‘Get Back To Work Before I Drag Your Ass’_ stare.

He liked it, but it wasn’t helping him like he hoped.

He needed more information on what happened to Danny. He couldn’t do that with how slow they were going. It’ll be years before he knows.

This is why the Institute is a load of crock shit!

Tim pulls out a stack of papers from his bag, giving them a quick read through. Another good thing about the job- he could look at this stuff whenever he wanted to. Whatever good that’ll do him.

Case #0150409, Subject named Carlos Vittery. Jon wants to record the statement before the week ends, so they’d have to do another read over and find any information regarding the case so they could properly file it. Jon sent Martin to check up on this case, but Tim was going to do a few additional checks, just to be sure.

He was going to do background information on Vittery- permanent records, criminal records, health records, whatever was needed. Tim just hoped he wouldn’t have to do much more than a few initial Google searches.

By the time Tim had finished looking over the relevant information they had already collected, he was unlocking the door to his house. 

He gave a small huff of relief as the door swung open with barely a problem. 

”Honey, I’m home.” He hummed out, slipping off his shoes and hanging the bag up.

Right now he needed one thing and one thing only:

Less clothes on.

* * *

Tim stretched, the tank he slipped on ridding up just slightly as he walked out of his room.

The hallway was long, dotted with the occasional photograph of him and Danny, or him and Sasha or Martin, and actually he had one with Jon somewhere. The man didn’t like pictures, so when he had agreed to it, Tim viewed it as a special occasion and had framed and hung the photo. 

It made the place a bit more homey, in his opinion.

Tim unconsciously counted the number of doors in his home. There are four doors in this hall. One led to his room, the other was a guest room, a bathroom and-

There was only supposed to be three doors in this hallway.

He stopped in front of the new door. It was a fraying yellow- or maybe it wasn’t. He couldn’t tell, his mind was becoming blurry and unfocused the longer he stared at it.

It was out of place in the hall of white doors- but maybe this door was white- maybe all of his _other_ doors were yellow. Maybe this door was always here, but he couldn’t shake the feeling something about it was off.

For some reason unbeknownst to him, Tim slowly raised his fist and-

_Knock, knock._

The yellow door creaked open, and for just a moment he could have sworn he’d seen a never ending hall of all colors and angles and shapes he couldn’t name- and he thought he had seen a woman, but her hands were _wrong_ \- like somebody rearranged all of her bones to fit into her hands-

Every train of thought was derailed as a man suddenly stumbled out of the door and it snapped shut behind him, like a jaw snapped closed.

Tim blinked as the door disappeared and the man tripped into him.

”Woah-“

Tim pushed the man into a sitting position as the sunk to the floor, waiting for him to regain any composure he had. It gave Tim time to try to comprehend what he just saw.

The man in front of him was dark skinned, with long hair that bunched around his shoulders, dark and streaked with gray- a salt and pepper look. What caught Tim’s attention was the large burn on the hand the man was using to clutch his head. A bulky hand shape was burned into the hand; and the more her looked he could see small circular scars trailing up his arm.

”Yo, shit, man, are you alright-“

The stranger snapped his head up quickly and Tim felt seen- flayed open and looked through, as if someone was _pulling him apart piece by piece and looking through every strand carefully and with purpose._

And he was looking into the eyes of one _Jonathan Sims_. He recognized him immediately- through all the pock scars and the smallest lines surrounding his eyes, just under the deep bags, green eyes looked back at him. Jon’s green eyes. Green eyes that were _deep_ and _calculating_ and warm and cold and could see right through a person. These were the same eyes that looked right at him. 

Tim was at a loss for words as this- this Jon- _Not-Jon_ looked at him, terrified and panicked. Red rimmed his eyes as if he was crying and hands clutched Tim’s wrists as he stared back.

And in the softest voice, this man who looked like Jon but was not but was, whispered, “ _Tim_?”

It was all Tim could do to catch the man in his arms as he fell unconscious.

It was all Tim could do not to freak the hell out and call the police.

It was all Tim could do to put the man in the guest room bed and just sit, and think.

It was all Tim could do to just, watch and wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about the short chapter- they’ll get longer! Promise!
> 
> I’ll be trying to update as fast as possible- I currently have a schedule to put up my fics, so I’ll add this one in-
> 
> It’ll probably update every other Thursday, or every Thursday if you’re lucky! 
> 
> Any constructive criticism is appreciated! Thank you and have an awesome day!


End file.
